


Red Dust

by darkergrey



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friendship/Love, Humor, Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-04
Updated: 2013-02-04
Packaged: 2017-11-28 05:31:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/670828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkergrey/pseuds/darkergrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agent Darcy's shot missed Wainwright in The Crimson Hat. Nevertheless, the FBI is taken off the case and High Command decides to bring in the CIA. While the entire team tries to adapt to the new situation and get back to work, Red John develops the plan meant to be their downfall. This story will, in multiple chapters, feature new cases, focus on establishing relationships and, of course, with Red John in it, follow the general question in The Mentalist: Who do you really trust?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Dust

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own anything except the original characters I created.  
> Rating: M (will contain explicit content later)  
> Author’s Note: I kind of felt taken aback by Wainwright's death in the season finale, mostly because I thought the character had a great potential of development. So I simply to decided to turn back time.

**Red Dust**

_Traveller, your footprints are_  
The only path, the only track:  
Wayfarer, there is no way,  
There is no map or Northern star,  
Just a blank page and a starless dark;  
And should you turn round to admire  
The distance that you’ve made today  
The road will billow into dust.  
No way on and no way back,  
There is no way, my comrade: trust  
Your own quick step, the end’s deadly,  
The vanished trail of your own wake,  
Wayfarer, sea-walker, Christ. (Road - Don Paterson) 

 

**Chapter One: Unsustainable**

Special agent Darcy's hands shake as she frees Wainwright from the duct tape. Her shots have missed him only by inches, judging by the bullet holes in the window and she knows, she just knows, this is the end of her career. She couldn't have known, of course. Couldn't have known she was firing at the chief of the CBI, but that won't help her a bit. Sure, she caught the woman, Lorelei Martins, but that won't help her, either. They will say she has misjudged the situation. They will say she has a personal grudge against Patrick Jane. They will say it's her fault Red John has escaped. Again.

Wainwright's hands are free. He wriggles her off and she steps back from the car, turns around as he rips the rest of the tape off his mouth. The sun is burning down. The asphalt is glimmering. A little bit afar, she spots Teresa Lisbon and Patrick Jane, sitting in the sand. She knows she should apologize.

To Wainwright. To Lisbon. Even to Jane. But she can't.

Agent Cho approaches the limousine. He talks to Wainwright. Asks him if he's alright. She should have done that, too.

So many things on the list. So many things.

Her feet start to move, away from the car, away from her team, away from the scenery. To the desert. Nothing left but sand and heat and regret and silence.

Silence… Yes. Silence is all she needs. Take a rest from the sirens. From the shots. From the conversations.

"Special agent Darcy!"

She stops by the sound of her name. The cowardly part of her personality wants to just move on, but she doesn't give in. She never gives in.

Inhale.

Slowly, she turns around and spots Agent Davington running over to her, his phone in his hand.

Her feet demand motion.

Exhale.

She focuses her eyes on the desert and thinks, after all, it's just an accumulation of yellow dust. "Special agent Darcy, the director", Davington says as he reaches her.

Inhale.

Slowly, she turns towards him and takes the phone out of his hand. There's another split second wasted for hesitation, before she raises the phone to her ear.

"Director", she says and thinks, at least, she can try and keep her dignity.

 

**CBI Headquarter, Sacramento**

Patrick Jane leaves the interrogation room, his fingers playing with the little coin he always keeps in his pockets. It helps him think, focusing his hands on the solid material, while his mind is set on Lorelei Martins. Lorelei Martins and Red John.

He walks into the kitchen and brews himself a cup of tea. Lorelei Martins will talk. He is sure of that. All it takes is time. She needs Red John. She needs his instructions. Without them, she is like a child, insecure, frightened. Alone.

She can't stand the loneliness.

He turns around and walks slowly into the office, where the rest of the team is assembled.

He takes a sip of the tea and looks at them. "You look disappointed."

He gains all the attention, immediately. Cho raises an eyebrow. "Does that surprise you?" he asks.

"Yes. Yes, it does."

"We just lost Red John, again. What shall we do? Celebrate?" Lisbon asks, her voice edgy.

He looks at her and is surprised she holds his gaze. After all Lorelei has said, he expected her to… more furious. Furious because he hasn't told her the whole story, again. Maybe even a little bit jealous. His actions haven't really improved their friendship.

"But we got Lorelei", he says.

"Who isn't talking a bit", she states.

"Oh, she will talk. Sooner or later, she will talk."

He walks over to the couch and sits down, as a familiar voice steps in.

"I'm afraid it's not that easy."

A small grin sneaks onto his lips as he looks up. "Agent Wainwright", he says carelessly and puts the teabag carefully on the plate. "Already out of the hospital?"

"Er… Yes. Released myself", the man says, hands at his belt.

He looks at him shortly. The duct tape has left red marks on his skin, but otherwise, he appears as kooky as ever. Protection measures. He has figured him out some time ago.

"With all due respect, sir, that wasn't necessary. We can handle the situation…" Lisbon starts, but he interrupts her quickly.

"Ah, he hasn't been hurt. Thanks god agent Darcy isn't much of a sniper."

Van Pelt shots him a glance, but he winks at it. "I suppose you don't remember anything about your abduction, do you?" he continues.

Wainwright hesitates, then shakes his head. "No. No. All I remember is I opened my car. The rest is all a bit of a blur. But maybe, the memory will come back as soon as the concussion…"

"No it won't", he says. "Lucky you. Red John would get rid of you as soon as possible if it did."

"Jane", Lisbon hisses and he raises his hands in defense.

"Sorry. You wanted to say something about Lorelei Martins?"

"Yes. I just received a call from the attorney general. He wants to imprison her as soon as possible, so his men can start to interrogate her."

"Idiots", he says quietly and puts the teacup on the plate. "As if she would talk to them."

Wainwright looks at him sharply. "She isn't talking to us, either, is she? Besides, do you even realize the scandal you caused with your solitude?"

"Weird. I thought it was the FBI who messed everything up."

"We all messed up. All. Bertram is trying to sort everything out with the FBI, so we don't look like a bunch of kindergarten kids fighting over a bar of chocolate."

"Nice euphemism", van Pelt mutters and he smiles at her.

Van Pelt. Always trying to keep up appearance, but woe betide anyone who lets her loose.

"Anyways, Lorelei Martins will be imprisoned and there's nothing we can do about it. The attorney general has demanded no one of the CBI, or the FBI, interrogates her so there won't be any rivalry."

"Nonsense. As if the FBI isn't pissed already", Rigsby mutters.

Wainwright looks at him, his expression astonished. Rigsby seldom contradicts. "Of course they are", the man admits. "They just lost the responsibility for the Red John case."

"About time", Cho states.

"So, the responsibility has been retransferred to us?" Lisbon asks.

"Oh, Lisbon, you are such an optimist", he mutters and leans back.

Wainwright hesitates. "Not quite. High command has decided to involve the CIA."

"The CIA?" Rigsby asks. "Since when is the CIA responsible for serial killers?"

"They aren't. But since the FBI is out of the game, for obvious reasons…"

"Shooting at you?" he asks and sounds amused. He earns another angry glance from Lisbon and van Pelt.

"No", Wainwright says, his tone aloof. "Because rumor has it Red John has infiltrated them. And since there aren't many agencies left to be involved and Homeland security is basically totally overworked, the winner is the CIA. They will dispatch an agent who is supposed to work with us on the Red John case and on every other case we work at in the meantime."

"Wow. They really go for intervention", Rigsby mutters.

"Great", he says ironically. "We get a new team member who has been trained to lie and conceal whenever it's adequate. That will be really helpful."

"I'm not happy with this, either", Wainwright says. "But at least, we'll be in command. The CIA granted me full authority."

"Oh, that changes everything, of course", he adds.

"Jane, this behaviour isn't getting us anywhere", Wainwright says. "Look, I know you want to interrogate Lorelei, but…"

"Ah, no, no, it's fine. She won't talk to anyone except me, anyway. Let them have her. We'll just have to wait for their call for help."

"I'm glad you see it this way. Now, I've got to report to Bertram and you all ought to take some rest. It's been a rough day. For all of us". Wainwright says.

He claps his hands and rises from the couch. "Truer words were never spoken. Anyone here who wants to join me for the delicious linguine? No? Alright, see you tomorrow." He walks out of the office, whistling, aware of the stares behind his back.

 

**Washington D.C., Central Intelligence Agency**

Special agent Ava Miller sits in a chair in the old-fashioned office of her superior, eyes fixed on a photograph of an ancient train, while he rants and exclaims and sends his blood pressure soaring.

She doesn't really pay attention to it. It's not like she sits there for the first time in her life and it's not like she doesn't know she has just knocked another nail into her coffin.

"Agent Miller, are you even listening to me?" he yells.

She sighs and turns her head. "Yes, sir."

"Now tell me, haven't I been clear enough? Haven't I told you three times to remain at your position and not to storm the warehouse like a freaking amazon?"

"You have, sir."

"You admit, then, that you have disobeyed my orders on purpose?"

"Well, it worked out, didn't it?" she asks bluntly and looks into his eyes.

For a second, the man just stares at her and she fears he might really suffer a heart attack, because his face is flashed with red and his knuckles shine white.

"It worked out?" he asks aloud. "The press is all over us! The Director is raving! Tell me, does this sound like it worked out to you?"

"No, sir."

"You are lucky, very lucky the ambassador survived and came to your defense. Otherwise, you wouldn't even be sitting here."

"I'll make sure I'll add the ambassador to my lists of Christmas card addressees. Sir."

"You think this is funny, don't you?" he asks.

"I think it is fascinating how the Director and everybody else jumps to attention as soon as the press is involved. Sir."

"That's what people call cooperation, agent Miller", he snaps. "You might want to look up the meaning."

"Thanks, I know the meaning", she replies casually.

"Really? I'm not so sure about it. The director isn't, either", he says. "That's why we have decided to award you with another lesson in it."

She eyes him closely. "And that means?"

"Have you ever heard about Red John?"

"The serial killer? Yeah. You know, I read newspapers", she says ironically.

"Great. The responsibility for the case used to be in the hands of the FBI, but they have fucked up this afternoon. It's been retransferred to the CBI, under the condition that we dispatch one of our agents to aid the investigation. And every other case the CBI works on until they get their hands on Red John. And now guess who's the lucky one going to Sacramento."

Silence falls between them for a second. He must be joking. She eyes him closely, but his face is stern and... amused.

"You're not serious", she hisses.

"Oh, I assure you, I'm dead serious."

"I'm not a profiler! I don't have any idea how to investigate murders! Damn it, you can't do that!" she exclaims.

"Life is for learning, agent Miller", he says, his tone sickly sweet. "Besides, you'll surely get the chance to do what you do best. Shoot and kill. Now, pack your bags. You'll report to Agent Wainwright tomorrow morning, at 9:00 o'clock, at the CBI headquarter. For the time of the dispatch, he'll be your direct supervisor. Oh, and try not to shoot him. We don't want to copy the FBI."

She stares at him, eyes glaring with anger. "Yes, sir", she snaps and rises from the chair.

"Agent Miller", he says just as she turns for the door. "Don't mess this up, or you'll lose your badge. Am I clear on that?"

She clenches her teeth and nods her head.

"Good. Now get out of my office."


End file.
